


Slingphries Drabbles

by eriicaceae



Category: Kuroshitsuji : The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World - Iwasaki/Mori/Mari, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Drabble Collection, Drabbles, Flirting, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Language of Flowers, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Injuries, Plant Symbolism, Public Display of Affection, Slingphries, Terminal Illnesses, Thorns of Death, tags will be added as I go, these dont follow any one plotline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-04-18 06:58:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14207631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eriicaceae/pseuds/eriicaceae
Summary: this is just a collection of all the short eric/alan drabbles ive written





	1. Old Habits

Old habits die hard.

It was a phrase Alan was familiar with, and one that he couldn't help but think of whenever he found himself doubled over and clutching at his chest, desperately gasping for breath he didn't need.

He found a fair amount of humor in the saying now, since he was, after all, quite dead-- or undead, rather. Although, he was sure if he pointed this out to anyone else, they wouldn't see it the same way.

He knew for sure that Eric wouldn't. He usually enjoyed Alan’s jokes, but he felt the exact opposite about Alan’s more morbid ones, which were few and far between.

Alan had tried to stop breathing once, but the feeling unsettled him, to say the least, so he quickly gave up on his attempt. 

Reapers didn't need to breathe, unless absolutely necessary, of course, but Alan found comfort in it-- now more than ever.

It used to just be something he did out of habit, not even realizing he was doing it. But now, he had become painfully aware of his breathing. It reminded him that he was still alive, and it made him feel even more human than he already did.

He found comfort in it, above anything else, when he would recover from an attack and finally be able to catch his breath. And he knew Eric found comfort in it too, so he made no effort to stop.

Alan noticed, when he and Eric were laying next to each other one night, that Eric did it, too. They were breathing almost perfectly in sync, and Alan wondered if it had always been like this, and he was only noticing just now.

The corners of Alan’s mouth turned up in a smile, and he reached out a hand to place it on top of Eric’s chest, feeling its rise and fall. He wondered if Eric did this as well. Probably, he decided.

Eric’s eyes, which had been closed in an attempt to fall asleep, opened as he looked over at Alan. “Everything alright, love?”

“Just fine, no need to worry.” He gave Eric a reassuring smile, “I was just thinking about some things.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Are you familiar with the saying ‘old habits die hard’?”


	2. Drip, Drip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was inspired by my leaky ceiling and the dripping noise the water made in the bucket, which was incredibly annoying

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The sound of water droplets from the leaky faucet in the kitchen hitting the sink basin was all that could be heard in the living room where Alan sat, waiting for his partner to come home. 

They both had gotten off work at the usual time-- or rather, _Alan_ had gotten off work at the usual time; Eric had gotten overtime again, nothing that a couple hours of concentration and determination wouldn’t fix. 

That was four hours ago.

Alan was sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, which is where he had been for the past hour and a half. It was rather dark in the room, and he had to make a conscious effort to not fall asleep sitting up. Really, he shouldn't be staying up so late when he had work the next day, but neither should Eric. Honestly, simple paperwork couldn't possibly take _this_ long to complete. Had he stopped by the pub or something before coming home? No, he wouldn't do that without telling Alan first.

Alan should be used to this by now, as Eric found himself getting more and more overtime lately. Probably because he, as well as other reapers, had to pick up Alan’s slack. The thought made him frown involuntarily. He did as much as he could, but he was limited both by the Thorns and Eric’s worrying. If Eric was there, he would assure Alan that it wasn't his fault, that it was beyond their control; but he wasn't there.

The minutes passed, and Alan patiently waited still; hoping that he would soon hear the door unlock and open, and Eric would walk through, complaining about the overtime and scolding Alan for staying up so late.

More minutes passed, and all Alan heard was the steady _drip, drip, drip_ of the kitchen sink.


	3. Can't Sleep

“Eric? You awake?” Alan rolled over to face his boyfriend, who was laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Yeah. What’s up?” Eric turned to look at Alan. 

“Can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“Well, I know why _I_ can’t sleep, why can’t you?”

“Just…” Eric paused, “thinking.”

“About?”

“Stuff.”

Alan snorted, “Specific.” He found Eric’s hand and gave it a slight squeeze. “Is it... me stuff?”

Eric returned the action, “Yeah.”

Alan, not entirely sure what to say, simply took Eric’s hand and rested it over his heart, letting Eric feel its steady beating. 

“Alan…” Eric’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

“I’m alright. I’m still here, and I’m still alive. You don’t need to think about the sad stuff, okay?”

“It’s just so hard, Al. I don’t want to lose you.” His voice was breaking, and Alan could vaguely make out tears falling down the sides of his face. 

Alan scooted closer to Eric, burying his face in his chest and wrapping an arm around him. “I know, Eric. I don’t want to leave you.” 

“But,” Alan turned his head to rest his cheek against Eric’s chest and took a deep breath, “There’s nothing we can do, besides just accept it and move on.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I know, Eric.”

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Just… accept this. It’s affecting you the most, _killing_ you, but you just shrug it off with a smile and say ‘This is just what’s happening.’”

“It’s not like I’ve got much of a choice. I can either accept the fact that I’m slowly and painfully dying and there’s nothing that will change that, or I can wallow in self-pity and wish that I could change the fact that I’m dying a slow, painful death.” He paused to take a breath, “Personally, I prefer the first option.”

Eric sniffed and wiped at his eyes, trying to get rid of his tears. “So, why can’t _you_ sleep, Alan?”

He seemed desperate to change the subject, and Alan was silently thankful for that, since he honestly didn’t really feel like talking about it anymore tonight. 

Alan looked up at Eric and shook his head slightly, “Honestly, there’s no real reason.” He then shrugged and gave a small smile, “It’s just what’s happening.”


	4. Eternity

He wasn't sure when exactly it started happening, but lately Alan had become very aware of the passing of time. Every tick of the second hand on the clock meant one less second he had left alive. Every tick of the minute hand meant one less minute he had alive. 

He had never really given it much thought before, due to the fact that reapers were immortal beings who were also very difficult to kill. He had had an eternity to live, he and Eric had had an eternity to spend together, but what once was an eternity had been considerably shortened. 

Grim Reapers didn't die. At least, not in the ways that humans died. Reapers died if they encountered a demon and ended up losing the fight that would surely ensue. Reapers died only if hit by truly fatal damage. They didn't die of old age or of sickness. This was true for almost every reaper, except for one Alan Humphries. That was a fact that Alan was very well aware of.

The Thorns of Death had turned his eternal life into that of a mortal’s. He would die, that was a fact. It wasn't a matter of how, like it was for some other reapers, but rather it was a matter of when. 

He could have an attack at any time, and that attack could possibly be the one that ended his life. He generally preferred to not give this much thought, as he found it particularly stressful, but he often found himself thinking about it anyway. 

It was at times like these, when a glance at the clock on the wall had turned into a staring contest with the clock on the wall, that he thought about it. He would watch the minutes tick by, and as they did he would think to himself, ‘ _By the next time the minute hand moves, I could very well be dead._ ’

And yet, death never came.

It was a rare occasion when he wasn’t left alone with thoughts like these. If he was at work, he was usually completing paperwork when Eric was collecting souls, and vice versa. When he had to take a sick day or two, he was left alone at the house while Eric went to work, despite how much he tried to get out of it to stay home with Alan.

It was only when both their shifts were over, and they were both at home, that Alan found himself completely unaware of the passage of time. 

When he and Eric were together, even if they were just simply sitting on the couch and cuddling, it was as if time had stopped. The only thing that mattered was what was happening right there and then. 

Being with Eric made him forget about the thorns, and the fact that his time left was slowly slipping away from him like sand in an hourglass. 

Eric made Alan feel as if he still had eternity, if only for a short while.


	5. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is more of a one-shot than a drabble but im posting it here anyway hjfgjdkhf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, i made a tumblr side blog for kuroshitsuji content!! its @humphries-slingby if you wanna follow me

Eric had gotten overtime again. 

For once, Alan was thankful for the other’s tendency to get the extra work; it gave him time to gather his thoughts.

He knew what he wanted to say, what he had to say, but he wasn’t so sure if he was actually going to be able to say it when he needed to. 

He had made plans with Eric, nothing out of the ordinary, just a simple dinner at their house. Of course, they usually had dinner together, but sometimes Eric opted to go to the pub with their coworkers instead, and Alan had wanted to make sure he was going to be there for dinner tonight.

He was almost done with preparing dinner and, after checking his watch, knew that Eric would be home soon, which meant that the conversation Alan was dreading would happen soon. 

Alan sat down at the dining table and rested his chin in one of his hands, his free hand fidgeting with the hem of the sweater he had changed into when he got home. He took deep breaths and went over what he planned to say in his head once more. 

Before long, he heard the lock click and the door open. Shortly after that, Eric appeared in the dining room. Alan stood up and gave him a smile that was only somewhat forced before walking over and giving him a quick kiss and a hug.

He pulled away after a second of trying to will away some of his anxiousness, “Welcome home, I missed you.”

Eric chuckled and ruffled Alan’s hair, “We just saw each other less than two hours ago.” 

“Yeah, well, I still missed you.” He gestured to the dining table, “Sit down, dinner’s almost ready.”

Eric gave him another quick kiss on the head, “Sure thing.” He went to go take his seat at the table as Alan went to the kitchen to finish dinner.

He served the food (sausages and mashed potatoes) to two plates, a larger portion for Eric, a smaller portion for himself. He called out to Eric to ask him what he wanted to drink, unsurprised when ‘whiskey’ was the answer he received. 

Alan poured a glass of whiskey for his partner, before bringing it to him along with his food. He set it down on the table in front of Eric and went back into the kitchen to grab his own plate and drink (a simple glass of water). 

He sat down at the dining table, but didn’t begin eating. He just stared at his food and answered Eric’s questions about his day until he pointed out that Alan hadn’t touched his food yet.

“I’m not that hungry, is all.”

“You seem nervous. What’s going on?”

“I just have a... surprise planned.”

“What’s the surprise?”

“Finish your dinner and maybe I’ll tell you.”

And Eric did. Alan collected the plates (he had also managed to finish his own dinner by then) and brought them to the sink, where he then washed them. 

He poked his head into the dining room, a small smile on his face, “Are you ready for dessert?”

Eric looked like a kid who had just gotten a puppy for Christmas, “There’s dessert? What is it?”

“You’ll find out shortly.” Alan called over his shoulder as he went to go plate dessert. 

He brought out dessert and set it on the table, “I made some fruit cobbler, since I know you like it.”

“Thank you, darling. Was this the surprise? I don’t see why you’d be so nervous over just a bit of cobbler.”

“It’s part of the surprise,” Alan gave Eric a weak smile, “Just to make it a little better, I guess.”

“So, what _is_ the surprise?”

“Finish your cobbler first.”

Eric gave him a slightly puzzled look, but finished his cobbler nonetheless. 

Alan, however, had hardly touched his cobbler. Instead, he had decided that the tabletop was suddenly very interesting. 

“Are you gonna finish that or not?” Eric asked, rather suddenly, probably trying to keep the mood positive. Alan appreciated that, though it did little to calm his nerves. 

“I...” And of course, at the most crucial moment, he had forgotten everything he had planned to say. So he went with a simple, “I’m sick.”

Alan was met with silence. He looked up and saw Eric was halfway through trying to sneak a bite of his cobbler. He almost laughed despite himself. 

Eric was silent a moment longer before giving up on stealing Alan’s cobbler, “You’re... _sick_? Reapers don’t get sick.”

“They do... sometimes.” Alan stared down at his hands, unable to bring himself to look at Eric. “The Thorns of Death.”

“That’s not possible.”

“The infirmary would say otherwise.”

“But-!”

“But nothing. I’ve got the only known disease that reapers can get. That’s a fact. I’m _dying_ , Eric.”

Eric reached across the table to grab one of Alan’s hands and give it a gentle squeeze. “There has to be something they can do.”

“There isn’t. You and I both know that.”

Eric sighed, and Alan finally willed himself to look up. He looked as if he was the one who had just been diagnosed with a terminal illness. “I’m sorry, Eric. There’s nothing that can be done.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I have no other choice but to be okay with it.” He was only met with more silence.

Alan let it go on for a few seconds before pulling his hand away and standing up, “You can have my cobbler, I’m going to bed. Sorry for ruining dinner.”

He started walking towards their bedroom, but was stopped by a hand grabbing his wrist. 

“You didn’t ruin dinner, and I don’t want your damn cobbler.” Eric stood up and took a couple steps towards Alan, then pulled him into a hug. “You’re gonna be alright.”

“That’s not true.” His voice was muffled due to his face being buried in Eric’s chest, but the cracking in his voice could still be heard. 

“Let me believe it for right now. Please?”

“You’ll have to face the truth sooner or later.”

“I choose later, then.”

“You’re just going to get your hopes up only to have them crushed when I... don’t get better.”

“ _Or_ , you’ll get cured and I’ll be able to say ‘I told you so.’”

Alan gave an exasperated sigh, “There is no cure, Eric.”

“There might be.” Eric tightened his grip on Alan slightly. “I’ll find one.”

 

Six months later, the number of dead and collected souls stopped matching up.


	6. Overwork

Alan had just finished his work and was now heading to Eric’s house. He found himself doing so a lot more often lately. Honestly, it was starting to feel more like a home to him than his own house. 

As he walked, he hoped Eric wouldn't be worried. Alan had gotten extra paperwork that day (as per his request) and it had taken a bit longer than expected to finish. 

Perhaps he should’ve called and let him know ahead of time that he would be slightly late, but oh well, it’s not like he could go back and change the past. 

Eric always told him he didn’t have to knock, but he would knock anyway. Alan would always wait for Eric to call ‘It’s unlocked!’ from wherever he was in the house, and he would let himself in. Today was no different.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. The paperwork took longer than I expected.” Alan explained as he joined Eric on the couch, “William either needs to start giving me more collections or more paperwork. Having to ask for extra work all the time is such a bother. To quote the man himself: 'Honestly...'”

Eric looked up at him from the book he was reading, “No worries. You aren’t even that late.” He leaned over and gave Alan a quick kiss on the forehead, “And I can’t say I agree with you; you’re gonna work yourself to death at this rate.”

“That sounds more appealing than the other option.” Alan said under his breath, and Eric gave him a look that let him know that he had heard. “I’ll be _fine_ , Eric. It’s just so boring at the office without anything to do. My options are either sit in our office and stare at the clock, or sit in the break room and stare at the clock, with occasional appearances from Ronald and Grell.”

Eric sighed, “I know, Al. I just worry about you.”

“I know you do, and that’s fine, but I'm not a porcelain doll, Eric. I’m still capable of doing my job.”

“Just, at least make sure to take a break every once in a while.”

“I _do_ , Eric.” 

Eric decided not to pursue the topic further, and put up his hands in a placating manner. “Alright, I’ll leave it alone.”

Alan sighed, and put his head in his hands, “Sorry for snapping at you, it’s just so _frustrating_ to be treated so delicately all the time.”

“It’s alright, I understand.” 

"Do you, though?"

Unsure of what else to say, Eric put a hand on Alan’s back and began rubbing small circles with it. The action seemed to comfort him during attacks, so he figured it would help now as well.

They stayed in silence until Alan spoke, “Thank you, Eric.”

“You’re welcome, Alan.” 

Eric suddenly set his book down on the coffee table and stood up, clapping his hands together as he did. “So!” He smiled widely down at Alan, “What do you want for dinner?”


	7. Rainy Day

Eric wished he could say that Alan had died peacefully, that his heart had simply stopped beating while he slept. But fate was rather cruel, and it was much more messy than that. The last attack had been a bad one. Alan had awoken from his deep sleep (Eric had already been awake then; he didn't sleep much at all anymore) in a fit of coughing and wheezing, neither of which were sounds that Eric enjoyed hearing. In the end, he had rested back on the pillows, blood still on his hands and face, saying to Eric that he felt tired, and shut his eyes. 

He hadn't opened them again after that.

The first couple days without Alan passed Eric by in a blur, almost as if he were in a dream. He desperately wished that was true, that he would wake up from this bad dream and see Alan sleeping peacefully next to him, but he wouldn't. He would never see Alan again. He would never see him smile, or laugh, or cry, because Alan was dead, and you couldn't bring the dead back to life, no matter how much you wished you could.

It was the first rainy day after Alan’s funeral when Eric decided to visit the graveyard. Alan had loved rainy days. He would always comment on how the plants must be happy to be getting water, followed by a smile. But Alan had also disliked being alone on rainy days. He said they felt lonely, and the least Eric could do was provide him some company on this rainy day.

Eric noticed many things, almost as if for the first time, on his way to the graveyard, mostly plants, all of which reminded him of Alan. 

There was the rosemary next to the snowdrops that Alan had pointed out to him one evening, and the forget-me-nots that Alan usually stopped and admired on their way to work. Further down the path there were chrysanthemums, which Eric had always been fond of. He spotted primroses some time after the chrysanthemums, which left him feeling slightly bitter. 

He soon reached the cemetery and, as he stood in front of the gate, he noticed the wormwood growing there, and further in he could see cypress trees; rather fitting plants for a cemetery, Eric thought. He mustered up his courage, already feeling tears prickling the corners of his eyes, and walked into the cemetery.

Being reapers, there weren't a lot of graves, and he spotted Alan’s almost immediately. It didn't take long for Eric to arrive at Alan’s grave, but it felt like years before he finally reached it. He didn't say anything, as he would surely start sobbing if he tried, and he wouldn't be very good company if he was crying. 

Instead, he simply knelt down and placed a small bouquet of rainflowers at the base of Alan’s headstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rosemary - remembrance  
> snowdrops - hope  
> forget-me-nots - true love  
> chrysanthemums - i love, precious one  
> primroses - eternal love  
> wormwood - absence, bitter sorrow  
> cypress - death, mourning, despair, sorrow  
> rainflowers - i love you back, i must atone for my sins, i will never forget you


	8. Infirmary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan ends up in the infirmary, though for different reasons than one would assume.

The infirmary staff were quite familiar with Collections Agents Humphries and Slingby by now. Alan because he frequently came in-- whether it be on his own just so he could get a bit of rest, or in the arms of another member of Dispatch-- and Eric because, if Alan was there, he was sure to be close by. 

It almost made Alan laugh when he thought about it. Regulars at the infirmary were basically unheard of. Even the most reckless reapers didn't show their faces in the infirmary even remotely as many times as they did. 

Maybe that was why, when Eric and Alan walked into the infirmary and Eric (who was quite bloody) was the one leaning on Alan, and Alan was the one supporting his partner’s weight, the entire staff was at a bit of a loss of what to do. Alan was sure he would’ve chuckled if not for their current situation.

Eric was insisting he was fine, that he could take care of himself– how typical of him, trying to act brave and strong– but Alan pointed out how he was basically carrying him (although perhaps he was exaggerating) and the insisting stopped quite quickly.

“Now it’s your turn to have the staff worry about you.” Alan had said in an attempt to keep the mood light as Eric was laid down on one of the beds, though the nurses still worried about him; telling him to rest, take a seat, leave Eric’s care to them. Unfortunately for them, Alan was a stubborn man, and his mind was set on helping Eric in the same way Eric had helped him many times before.

He stood to the side as the nurses cleaned Eric’s wounds (from a demon, though ultimately Eric had done it in) and, as he watched, he felt slightly jealous of the fact that the injuries would heal within the day and they would be free to go. It hardly ever went that way for him. When Alan ended up in the infirmary, he usually stayed there until Eric could take him home, where he would then be confined to bed rest until at least the next day.

It was a nurse’s hand on his shoulder that brought Alan out of his thoughts. Try as he might, Alan couldn't, for the life of him, remember her name. It wasn't as if he really paid attention to the staff while he was here, though. They usually came and went in a blur, checking up on him to see how he was feeling (not great, usually) and if he needed anything (no, he was fine, thanks). 

She told him that Eric was fine, that he just needed to rest for a bit until his injuries healed. Alan wondered if she used the same condescending tone with Eric. He decided that yes, she probably did, and made a mental note to give Eric his condolences later. He nodded politely to the nurse and turned his attention to the man in the bed.

The nurses had all cleared out, gone to attend to other unfortunate reapers who were in the infirmary that day, so Alan pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. He grabbed Eric’s hand and gave it a quick kiss, “Hey, babe. How are you feeling?”

Eric shifted, trying to get comfortable, and smiled, “I’ve been better.”

Alan let out a small laugh, “Yeah, you've certainly seen better days.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the bed. “You know, it’s kind of weird not being the one in the hospital bed.”

“I’d rather it be me than you.” Eric moved to give Alan a kiss, but decided against it when the pain caused him to wince. 

Alan put a comforting hand on his shoulder and placed a kiss on his cheek, “Just relax. Do you want me to grab anything for you?”

“No, thanks.”

“You sure? I could get you some water, or some tea?”

“I’m _fine_ , Al.”

Alan laughed, “Now you know how I feel.”

“Ah, yeah, I guess I do.” Eric laughed with Alan, but was cut off by another wince, “Sorry, I just worry about you, you know that.”

“I do know that, but today I get to worry about you, okay?” 

“Just don't worry too much. It wouldn't do any good for the both of us to be in the infirmary.” Eric teased, trying to keep the mood light.

“Don't give me any more reason to worry, then.” Alan teased back, which he punctuated by playfully poking Eric in the arm.

It was odd. Even though the man he loved was stuck in an uncomfortable hospital bed, Alan couldn't remember a time when he had ever been this happy while in the infirmary. He enjoyed it, yet at the same time, sincerely hoped it didn't happen again.

Yes, it was an odd change indeed, but Alan appreciated it despite everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i now have a kuroshitsuji side blog on tumblr! its kinda inactive atm but u should give it a follow @humphries-slingby!! also!!! happy 8th birthday to kuromyu 2!


	9. A Day Off

It was a rare occurrence that Alan and Eric had a day off, even rarer for the both of them to have the same day off. This wasn't counting Alan’s sick days, which more often than not ended up being Eric’s sick days as well, since Alan was busy being sick and Eric was busy worrying over him. 

It wasn't clear whether or not this day off applied to all Dispatch members, but they doubted it. People wouldn't stop dying just so they could have a short vacation, after all. In the end, they decided that the predicted death tolls were probably low, and their assignments had simply been transferred to other collections agents (a concept that Alan was well acquainted with).

The high temperatures that day made them even more grateful for the day off; being able to lounge around in their home in outfits of their choice sounded much more appealing than running around in the suffocatingly warm uniforms they were required to wear when at work. At the moment, they were together on the couch- Eric simply wearing jeans and opting to go shirtless, while Alan went for a bit more modest ensemble, wearing a light t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants.

“Eric, come on, it’s too hot to cuddle.” Alan whined as he pushed Eric away from him for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

“But, Al, I need your cuddles to survive.” Eric gave him a pleading look and made another attempt to lean on him, only to be pushed away again.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to die.” Alan sighed, and set down the book he was reading on the coffee table before leaning over and giving Eric a quick kiss on the lips, “There. Better?”

Eric considered it for a second, “Hm… I don't know. I think I need another just to be sure.” He replied, grinning.

“You’re insatiable.” Alan rolled his eyes and leaned in for another kiss, this time letting his lips linger on Eric’s. 

When he tried to pull away, Eric took advantage of the closeness to pull Alan into his lap and wrap his arms around him, “Maybe I am.” 

Alan pinched Eric’s arm in an attempt to get him to let go, but Eric countered by flipping him onto his back and beginning to tickle his sides.

“Eric, stop!” Alan protested in between laughs, “I'm serious, I’ll kick you.”

“You would never.” Eric replied, sounding very sure of himself.

“Try me.” Alan managed, before his laughter was interrupted by him turning his head to cough into his shoulder. 

Eric immediately stopped tickling him, “Sorry, Al, I shouldn’t have-”

Alan sat up and held up a hand, cutting him off, “I'm not a bloody porcelain doll, Eric.” Another cough, “I won't break from just a bit of _tickling_.”

“If you say so,” Eric looked doubtful, “but-”

“I'm fine, Eric.” Alan insisted, though the increasing frequency of his coughing was proving him wrong, “Don't worry so much.”

Eric began to rub Alan’s back, “Fine, I’ll stop worrying. But that means you can't say ‘I told you so’ if it doesn't get worse.”

 

Thankfully, Alan’s coughing subsided only a few moments later. Taking a few seconds to catch his breath, he leaned back against the couch cushions and looked at Eric, “See? I told you I'm fine.”

Eric sighed, “And I told you not to say that.” 

Alan gave him a smug look, “Actually, I believe you specifically told me not to say ‘I told you so’; technically, I didn't say it.”

“Curse you and your technicalities.” Eric said, rolling his eyes, “Can I get you anything?”

Alan almost pointed out that he was, in fact, already cursed, but decided it would be best not to, “Some tea, if you don’t mind?”

“Sure thing, babe.” He said, kissing the top of Alan’s head before standing up and walking to the kitchen to prepare the tea. 

 

“What kind of tea do you want?” Eric called from the kitchen. Not getting an answer, he called again, “Al?”

When he still received no answer, he went back into the living room, thinking (hoping) that maybe Alan hadn't been able to hear him. 

His heart nearly stopped when he found Alan on laying down on the couch. He was curled in on himself, clutching his chest and bloody trembling from the amount of pain that Eric could only imagine he was in. 

Eric was quick to kneel down in front of Alan and grab one of his hands, gently assuring him that he was alright and that everything would be fine. 

“I'm fine.” Alan managed to get out, though it was a glaringly obvious lie; every word sounded like it was taking all of his energy, “Doesn’t even hurt.”

Eric let out a sad sigh, “Alan, you're not fine. You don't have to put on a brave face when it’s just us, I've told you that before.”

Alan relaxed at that- as much as the attack would allow him- letting out a pained breath and squeezing Eric’s hand tightly. 

The attack passed fairly quickly, having only been a small one, allowing Alan to finally relax. He looked almost peaceful, and Eric thought he had fallen asleep until he spoke, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Eric smiled softly, the exchange providing comfort to the both of them, “Do you want to go lie down in our bed?” He asked, gently brushing Alan’s bangs out of his face.

He nodded and sighed, “That would be nice. More comfortable than the couch, at least.”

“Do you think you can walk?” Eric asked. 

Alan hummed, “Maybe, but I don’t feel like testing out that theory.” He said, grabbing Eric’s hand and bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss against the back of it. 

Eric gave Alan’s hand a quick squeeze, “That’s alright.” He said, wrapping Alan’s arms around his neck, “Hold on.” He added, before picking Alan up and carrying him bridal-style to their bedroom.

 

“So much for our day off.” Alan sighed as he was laid down on his side of the bed, “Sorry, Eric, I know that taking care of me is a lot of work.”

Eric scoffed, placing a kiss on Alan’s forehead, “It isn’t work to me, babe. Not when it’s you.”

Alan leaned up and pressed a kiss to Eric’s cheek in return, “What poetry book did you steal that from?”

“Why do you make it so difficult to be nice to you?” Eric asked, sighing in mock annoyance as he began to run his fingers through Alan’s hair. 

Alan chuckled, his eyelids fluttering closed as the exhaustion from the attack finally caught up to him, “Fine,” He said, weakly patting Eric’s side of the bed, “Come lie down. We can cuddle.”

“Sure,” Eric nodded and climbed into bed next to Alan, “But, I thought you said it was too hot to cuddle.” He teased as Alan cuddled closer to him, resting his head on his shoulder and putting an arm across his chest.

“It is.” He said, humming contentedly, “But I’ll be asleep soon, and it’s you, so I don’t mind.”


	10. Diagnosis

Diagnoses are a surprisingly comforting thing.

There's something about being able to put a name to your symptoms that does wonders to calm nerves. Although the Thorns of Death is a considerably easy disease to self-diagnose, considering it’s the only illness a Grim Reaper could possibly contract, being told you’re going to die by someone who knows what they’re talking about is comforting, in a way.

Alan had known at the first sign. The faint scars on his wrists had been more than enough to clue him in on his fate. He’d ignored it for as long as he could, but then, of course, came the first attack - with that came pain like Alan had never felt before. He’d been on the receiving end of a fair share of demon attacks before, but none of those could compare; he didn't need to breathe anymore, but the pain was enough to make him forget that as he gasped, trying desperately to take in air that his lungs no longer needed.

Eric had discovered him then, walking into their shared bedroom after coming home from his shift - he’d had overtime that night, Alan recalled, how typical of him - just as Alan’s vision had started to go black and fuzzy around the edges. There’d been worried shouting, which had just been vague noises to Alan at the time, and then the sensation of having Eric’s arms wrapped around him - tight, not so much so that it was uncomfortable or painful, but soothing.

That night, Eric made Alan promise to go to the infirmary the next morning before their shifts started. He’d promised, and the next morning they walked into the infirmary together. The doctor on duty had been rather surprised to see Alan escorting an uninjured Eric, and even more surprised when told that Alan - professional, responsible Alan - was the one there to see him.

Alan had shown him the scars, and recounted the attack as best as his foggy memory would allow him. The doctor’s face had fallen, and he had had to take a second to compose himself before launching into his spiel of ‘I am sorry to inform you, but you have contracted the Thorns of Death. There is nothing we can…’ and so on. In the end, he hadn't told Alan anything that he didn't already know. He had been oh-so-graciously granted with the ironic fate of being a dying immortal, and there was nothing that could be done - the only thing even coming close to a cure being just a silly fairytale.

The diagnosis had comforted Alan, telling him exactly what to expect to happen during the remainder of his now significantly shortened life. For Eric, however, it had been the exact opposite; he’d held it together rather well during the work day, but once they got home he had begun to cry. He didn't stop until the next morning, when they had to leave for work. 

That infirmary visit had sealed his fate, leaving no uncertainty in what was going to become of the once-exemplary reaper.

Even so, Alan sometimes wondered. And wondered, and wondered. What would become of Eric once he died? Would he move on? Probably not for a long time, Alan figured. Would anyone miss him? Besides Eric, perhaps Grell and Ronald, maybe even William. 

But, most of all, he wondered how much comfort a diagnosis could really provide. This led him down a deep path of thought, a path that ended in the realization that he’d never gotten a diagnosis at all.

He’d gotten a death sentence.


	11. PDA

Eric loved public displays of affection. Alan, however, did not.

It wasn't that he didn't like the affection itself- he loved it, in fact- but he didn't like that it was _public_ , and he got very flustered very easily.

Eric was well aware of this, and used it against Alan almost every chance he got. He’d started out with stealing quick kisses, but when he was met with smacks on his bicep paired with “Watch it, Slingby”s muttered through gritted teeth, he'd abandoned that approach and instead decided to use flirting.

Alan despised the flirting; it reduced him into a flustered mess, blushing intensely and covering his face with his hands. It completely ruined the image of professionalism that he'd carefully maintained over the years, but it was hard to keep his composure when Eric’s voice was like _that_ and _god_ not to mention his _accent_. Alan was sure he could very well go to sleep just listening to Eric reading him the news; his voice was deep and strong in the most pleasant way.

What _wasn't_ pleasant, however, was having to deal with Grell and Ronald teasing him in the break room after Eric had told him the way he holds his scythe is “very handsome” and he’d had to stop filling out the paperwork that he’d been working on to bury his face in his hands and suppress a groan.

And another time, when Eric had made a particularly _suggestive_ comment during a meeting with William, and they had both gotten overtime for a week- Eric for the comment, and Alan for having to walk out of William’s office to splash some cold water on his face.

But, of course, the public displays of affection didn't come without their pros. Once the work day was over and they were in the privacy of their own home, away from prying eyes and listening ears, Alan made sure to properly show Eric how much he appreciated all those compliments.


	12. Venting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this when i was feeling particularly frustrated with my health

Alan groggily opened his eyes, only to close them once more after being met with harsh fluorescent lights. He tried to bring up an arm to cover his eyes before realizing that someone, in fact, was holding his hand.

He had a pretty good guess as to who that someone was, and as to where he was at the moment. The first guess was confirmed by a gentle, deep voice coming from his right, “Hey, sleepyhead. You had me worried there.”

Of course Eric was there, and _of course_ he was worried. If Alan’s memory served correctly, they had been on collections together when Alan had had an attack. The obnoxiously bright fluorescent lights led him to believe Eric had taken him to the infirmary not long after the attack caused him to pass out. A bit redundant, if you asked Alan, considering there was no course of treatment for the Thorns of Death.

“Sorry to worry you,” Alan hated how scratchy his voice was, how tired he sounded, lingering evidence of the attack, “But it’s not like I had much choice in the matter.”

Eric laughed quietly, though there was no humor behind it, “No need to apologize, the fact that you're alright is enough.”

“I’m not, though.” Some bitter part of Alan replied before he could stop himself.

“Does it still hurt?” The amount of worry in Eric’s voice was enough to make him feel instantly guilty about opening his mouth.

“No, it’s nothing important, never mind.” Alan dismissed, hoping Eric would listen to him for once and not pursue the topic any further, though the probability of that happening was low.

True to form, Eric, the stubborn man that he was, was set on getting an answer, “Alan, it’s important to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I told you: nothing.” Alan turned his head so he was facing away from Eric, trying to let him know that he was done with this conversation.

“It obviously isn't nothing, if you're getting so defensive about it.” He replied, pressing the matter further when Alan remained silent, “Please just tell me.”

They’d entered a stalemate. Neither of them were winning, and neither of them were too keen on the idea of raising the white flag of defeat. Though, with each of Eric’s attempts to get him to talk, Alan felt more and more inclined to pour all of his feelings out to Eric in the middle of the dispatch infirmary. He was fighting a losing battle, and he was sure Eric could tell.

“ _Alan_.” Eric pressed again, and all of Alan’s resolve flew out of the window.

“Fine.” He said, with a little more intensity than intended, and finally opened his eyes, the fluorescent lights now a minor annoyance compared to his internal thoughts, “You want to know what’s wrong?”

He paused to sit up and look at his partner, who nodded, looking slightly startled at the sudden change. “I'm _dying_ , Eric. Every attack brings me closer to death, and all I can do is sit here and accept it.” He brought up his free hand to rest over his heart, “Even now, just sitting here, I’m slowly wasting away.” 

Now it was Eric’s turn to be silent. He obviously hadn't expected Alan- who always acted like he had it all together- to start ranting like this. But if Alan needed him to lend an ear, he was more than glad to.

Alan turned his gaze down, suddenly finding his lap rather interesting, “How much longer do I have, you think?” He asked.

“...I don't know, Alan. It’s hard to tell with the thorns.”

“I know that!” He paused to take a deep breath, closing his eyes again, “I know that,” He repeated, softer this time, “That’s the scariest part, to me. I don't know how much time I have left with you and that _terrifies_ me. What if I don't get the chance to say goodbye? What if my last words to you are said during an argument? What if-” A sob cut him off before he was able to finish his thought. 

He knew he shouldn't be getting so worked up, that it was bad for his health, but once he’d started he hadn't been able to stop himself. Eric knew this as well, but where he would normally jokingly chastise Alan, telling him to think of his health, he didn't say anything. 

Instead, he silently moved to wrap his arms around Alan, offering comforting words and letting him cry into his shoulder until he wore himself out.


	13. Collection

“I’m fine, focus on the collection.” 

“You aren't fine,” Eric sighed, taking his attention away from the soul he was supposed to collect in a few minutes, “I can tell you're in pain; it’s written all over your face.”

Alan shifted to put more of his weight against the wall he’d been leaning on, standing with his arms crossed. He sighed, letting all the tension in his face fall, “I'm not in pain. I’m just a bit stressed, that's all.”

“What about?”

“Work. Now, focus on your collection.” Alan gestured towards the man laying in the bed a few feet away from them, “I’d like to get to my next assignment _before_ they die.”

Eric rolled his eyes, but he knew better not to pursue the topic of Alan’s health further and turned back towards the dying man- Oliver Moore, 23, scheduled to die of tuberculosis at 20:43, November 16, 1888.

In all honesty, Eric would rather spend his time fussing over Alan than watch this man die. Something about watching a person spend their last moments clutching at their chest in absolute agony just hit a little too close to home for his comfort. He wondered if, when the time came, he’d be standing at Alan’s bedside and counting down the minutes until he finally succumbed to the Thorns of Death. 

No, he wouldn't let that happen; it was like Alan had said, he just needed to work faster.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a quiet exclamation of pain- one that was all too familiar, and and the source of which being behind him instead of in front of him. Eric turned back to Alan, “Your next assignment isn't for another half an hour or so, go back to Dispatch and get some rest until then.”

The look Alan gave him could have killed him right then and there if he’d tried hard enough, “I just caught my thumb on a sharp edge of my bolo and it surprised me, I would hardly consider that an injury, let alone one worthy of bed rest.” 

Eric looked at his hands and, sure enough, he was running his thumb along the length of one of the tips of his bolo tie- a nervous habit he had, but, “You're wearing your gloves, Alan.”

Alan tensed and opened his mouth to say something, likely another excuse as to why he didn't need to go back to Dispatch, but was interrupted by a rather harsh cough coming from the direction of the bed.

Eric gave a pointed look to Alan in an attempt to get the other man to swallow his pride and admit that he was too sick to continue working, though he knew his efforts were futile as Alan was particularly stubborn, before turning to the dying man to collect his soul.

He walked over and brought up his scythe before he brought it back down, the blade piercing the man’s chest and bringing forth his cinematic record for Eric to examine. 

They both watched the records as they flew into Eric’s scythe before ending. The man’s life was like that of any other- average. Eric went about stating the man’s name and birthday, as well as time and cause of death before writing ‘nothing of note’ in the ‘further remarks’ section of his list.

Once said list was marked as ‘Complete’, Eric turned back to Alan. His facial expression had softened, as it usually did when he watched the cinematic records of the dying, and he’d brought one of his hands up to rest over his heart. 

Though it was his usual reaction, Eric couldn't help but frown a bit. He had mixed feelings toward it- on one hand, it was sweet that he cared so much, but on the other hand, it was the reason he ended up with his illness. This train of thought, however, ended when Alan caught Eric’s gaze and- almost as if snapping back to reality- put on his cold and uncaring facade which was typical of most reapers.

“Let’s hurry up and get going; death won't wait for us.” He commented, before he turned to leave the house, starting on his way to their next assignment.

Without much choice to do anything else, Eric simply sighed and followed suit.

 

Only a few moments after they set out for the next collection, just after the front door of the house they’d been in creaked shut, Alan tensed and cried out, falling forward as the attack caused his legs to give out.

Eric was quick to react, catching Alan before he could hit the ground and gently lowering him the rest of the way, “This is why I wanted you to go back to Dispatch.” 

There was a long silence as Alan tried to keep himself from crying out again before he replied through gritted teeth, “I’d rather it happen in front of you…” He paused for a sharp intake of air, “...than in front of a bunch of nurses who’ll just fret over me and force me to rest longer.”

“You do realize that either way you have to rest now, right?” Eric asked.

“At least this way my pride isn't wounded.” Alan retorted, breathing heavily, “As long as the rest of my collections are completed, I’m fine with resting.”

“I can take care of them.” Eric assured him, “I was scheduled to finish earlier than you anyway, so there won't be any problems. Now, let’s get you to the infirmary.”

Alan simply nodded and let Eric take his scythe, too worn out from the attack to make a fuss about going to the infirmary. They both stood up, Alan leaning heavily on Eric, and slowly began walking back to Dispatch.

As they walked, Eric began to think; having to take on Alan’s collections as well as his own threw off his plans a bit, though it wasn’t as if he minded- he would do anything for Alan, after all.

He’d just have to work quickly if he wanted to avoid overtime tonight.


	14. Smile

Eric loved Alan’s smile.

Alan had many smiles though, and if you asked Eric which was his favorite, he would have a difficult time giving you a single answer.

For example: there was the small, gentle smile he wore when looking at the flowers that was usually accompanied by a fondness in his eyes, in much the same way Eric looked at Alan. And when Alan looked at Eric, he smiled the same as he had smiled at the Erica flowers on their first assignment together; it was a look of adoration, as if he were seeing something incredibly beautiful for the very first time. 

There were also quite a few fake smiles (which Eric didn't care for very much at all). Smiles that were just barely masking the pain Alan was in, accompanied by a ‘I'm fine.” and ‘Don't worry about me.” Very similar, yet different, to the reassuring smiles he gave to Eric when he ended up in the infirmary. Those were gentler, with no pain to mask, and gave Eric comfort in a way no words could.

Then there were the smiles he wore when laughing; when he was stifling a laugh, he had the faintest of smiling, which he usually covered with a hand. When he giggled, his eyes crinkled and he smiled wide. When he laughed, loud and hard, he covered his smile with a hand and closed his eyes; these were short lived, however, and usually ended in coughing fits or attacks depending on how his illness felt that day.

His illness, which was supposed to be his cause of death. His illness, which was supposed to be cured with the thousand souls that Eric had carefully, painstakingly collected just for him. His illness, which hadn't had the chance to claim his life before Eric had, before Alan himself became the thousandth pure soul needed to cure him.

In the very last moments of his life, he was in no pain. Eric knew this because of the gentle, small, reassuring smile Alan gave him. For the first and last time, it provided little comfort to him. 

Because Alan would never smile again.


	15. Tired

“Eric!” Alan yelled for his partner, a tone of urgency present in his voice. 

He had been laying down in bed and reading a book while Eric was out in the living room, and was currently having an attack. 

Seconds later, Eric came rushing into the room. “Alan? What’s wrong? Are you having an attack?”

Alan tried to speak, but was cut off as another wave of pain hit him and he doubled over. Deciding that was enough of an answer, he didn’t try to speak again. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Eric was at his side in a second, gently comforting Alan just like he always did. 

Alan started to feel around for Eric’s hand, but was mostly unsuccessful due to the fact that his eyes were tightly closed. Eric, however, knew what he was trying to do and brought his hand to meet Alan’s. 

Alan held onto that hand for dear life, as if the Thorns would finally take him if he let go. 

The pain eased up for a moment and Alan took the opportunity to speak. “Eric?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have a hug?”

“Of course.” Eric got into bed next to Alan and moved him into an upright position before wrapping his arms around the smaller reaper. 

Alan savored the brief moment of calm and warmth before the attack continued. He leaned into Eric and bit his lip as he tried his best to ride out the pain. 

Eric noticed this and gently ran his fingers through Alan’s hair, “Don’t do that, darling.” He then offered his hand to Alan again, “Here, squeeze my hand if you have to. I’d rather you do that instead of hurt yourself more.”

Alan nodded and grabbed Eric’s hand, squeezing it tightly. His grip tightened when he began to cough- a new symptom that accompanied his attacks. 

He pulled away slightly from Eric to cough into his arm, and when he brought his arm away from his face, there was a small patch of blood on his sleeve. 

Luckily, this didn’t last for very long, and was soon over. Alan was finally able to relax, though he did suffer a few small attacks over the next couple minutes. 

It was rare for Alan to remain conscious after attacks like these, and apparently this was one of those rare occasions. 

Eric had laid him back down where he had been before the attack started, and Alan relaxed into the pillows that he was propped up on. 

There was a brief moment of silence before Alan spoke, “I’m tired.”

“I know-“ Eric began, but was cut off by Alan. 

“You don’t know!” Alan took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump that was forming in his throat, “I’m tired of having to always go through this. I just wish it would stop.”

“Alan, hey, it’s alright. Don’t get yourself worked up, just rest.”

Alan felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, “It’s not alright, Eric!” He took a shuddering breath, “I’m dying and it hurts and it’s terrifying and I’m just... so tired.”

Eric was slightly taken aback, since Alan wasn’t usually one to talk like this. He sat in stunned silence before Alan continued.

“I just want this to be over. I don’t want to deal with this anymore, it’s just like when I was human.” Alan was crying now, his words were separated by shaky breaths. 

“Alan...”

Alan didn’t continue, he just brought his hands up to cover his face as he began to sob. 

Eric brought Alan back up into a sitting position, and started to rub his back.

“Hey, shh, you’re okay. You need to calm down, alright? Deep breaths.”

Alan nodded, and did as Eric said. He was drained, both from the attack and his outburst. 

“Good, keep doing that. It wouldn’t be good for you to have another attack.”

After a couple more minutes of deep breaths and soothing words from Eric, Alan finally managed to calm down. 

Alan rubbed at his face, drying his tears, “I'm sorry, Eric.”

“No need to apologize, darling.”

Alan sighed, and let himself relax in Eric’s arms, “I think I’m going to fall asleep soon.”

“Makes sense, you went through a lot just now.” Eric laid Alan back down again, and brushed his bangs out of his face. 

“Yeah, that’s true.” Alan closed his eyes, and he could feel Eric removing his glasses to set them on the bedside table. 

“Can you stay here with me?”

“I was already planning on that.”

“Thank you.”

Eric began to run his hands through Alan’s hair again, “I love you, Al.”

All he got was a soft hum in return, as Alan was already half asleep. 

He sat there a second, then pressed a gentle kiss to Alan’s forehead, and when he pulled away, Alan was peacefully sleeping.


End file.
